


Half-Baked Ideas (Are Always the Best)

by Always_Worth_It, Lalijinx



Category: Fantastic Four, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Bakery and Coffee Shop, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-powered AU, Sexual Tension, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:36:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Always_Worth_It/pseuds/Always_Worth_It, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lalijinx/pseuds/Lalijinx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Johnny Storm opens a bakery. Peter Parker is his most loyal regular.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Half-Baked Ideas (Are Always the Best)

“Uh...hi?” The confused voice came from the front of the bakery, where Johnny needed to put a small bell on the door to alert him of new customers for cases just like this.

 

Johnny sighed as he wiped his flour-covered hands on his apron. The dough needed to rise, anyway, so he could leave it there for a few minutes while he sent away his wayward would-be customer. He gave up on cleaning his hands completely and grabbed a dishcloth on his way into the front room.

 

“Can I help you?” he asked wearily. The boy at the counter looked about twenty, with a slight frame and ridiculous bedhead that looked surprisingly genuine. Johnny refrained from snapping at him because the poor kid looked so lost to begin with. “In case you didn’t notice, we’re not exactly open yet,” he offered awkwardly.

 

The kid’s mouth opened and closed again as his cheeks flushed a faint pink. “Oh,” he stammered, “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, I just, uh, I thought...”

 

Johnny sighed again and nearly ran a hand through his hair before catching sight of the flour and remembering to halt. “It’s okay, kid. I’m Johnny Storm, half owner of this little joint. What can I do for you? We don’t officially have our grand opening until tonight. I know, weird for a bakery, but my sister couldn’t get here for the opening of her own damn shop, too busy planning her wedding or some stupid shit, and I can’t exactly do everything on my own all that quickly. I can get you a coffee or something.”

 

He looked the kid up and down quickly. Cute, but young. Glasses, floppy mop of hair like a moody teenager. Probably a college student, given the proximity of the bakery to the local campus. Maybe younger, if the brightly colored key ring sticking out of his pocket with house keys but no car key was anything to go by. Johnny could see a bike leaning up against the window out front that must belong to the guy. “Or will your mom not let you drink coffee, kid?” he asked, tongue-in-cheek.

 

He bristled. “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-one, I don’t need my mom to let me have coffee, thanks.” He glared at Johnny in what was probably an attempt to look intimidating.

 

Johnny put up his hands in surrender. “Alright, sorry. Let me make it up to you. Actually, you can do me a favor, as well. Hold on.” He dashed back to the kitchen and grabbed one of the fruit tarts cooling on the counter. It was still warm, but the raspberries and dark chocolate shavings were no longer too melted for transportation. It wasn’t pretty, but it was still an experimental recipe so it didn’t have to be.

 

“Here,” he offered, thrusting the pastry at his first-ever customer. “Taste this. You like raspberry? If you like raspberry, you’ll love this, I swear.”

 

The not-a-kid eyed the ugly pastry warily, but snagged the treat from Johnny and popped it into his mouth in a single bite. He chewed tentatively, then his eyes bugged out as he munched in earnest. He swallowed with effort, then licked his lips appreciatively. “Whoa, that was like the best thing I’ve ever eaten. How did you make something so ugly that tastes so damn good?”

 

Johnny laughed. Sue always said that, too, but Johnny didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t exactly an artist, even in the kitchen, and baking sometimes seemed to be about the only thing he was good at. “I’ll tell you if you tell me your name,” he teased.

 

“Peter Parker,” the boy answered immediately, extending a hand and then quickly taking it back to wipe the tart crumbs on his pants leg. He reached out again, this time allowing Johnny to meet him in a handshake.

 

“Well, Peter Parker, as I am your elder at twenty-three, I do not need precocious college boys insulting my artistry. If you enjoyed the pastry, assume it was made with love and other secret ingredients that I will only divulge if you come back enough to earn my trust.” He winked jauntily and couldn’t bite back his laughter when Peter reddened again. “So how about you come back tonight for our grand opening and hang around the neighborhood convincing people to come try out the bakery where everything is ugly but magically delicious? I’ll pay you back in hot coffee and pastries in the morning.”

 

Peter grinned. “Deal. You had me at ‘hot coffee.’ Thanks again for the food, man.”

 

Johnny swatted his hand through the air as if to say it was no big deal. “Anytime, provided you can help me build my customer base.”

 

Peter nodded. “See you tonight!” the kid called as he scampered from the storefront back into the cool autumn air.

 

Johnny signed and ran his hand through his hair, this time remembering too late about the flour. He caught sight of it on his fingers and laughed as he realized that Peter had just dashed off with flour on his own palm now, too.

 

\-----------------------------

 

Business was booming. Sue was hardly ever around, but she kept the books balanced and did the inventory and ordering so Johnny could spend all his time on customer service and the actual baking. That was the part he liked, so he didn’t care that she got around to the rest between wedding planning and her own life as long as he still got to bake.

 

True to his word, Peter showed up every day, frequently dragging in bystanders on the street or friends of his from school, then studying at one of the tables until Johnny closed up. He had probably secured about half of the bakery’s regulars within two weeks of opening. He also came by most mornings for coffee before classes, which Johnny gave him for his taste-testing services instead of cash.

 

They did the taste-testing after closing each night, when Johnny had spent the whole day mulling over all the bizarre combinations he wanted to attempt. Peter was always game, no matter how horrible some of them sounded. He had learned by now that Johnny had a magic touch and everything he baked was delicious--though still ugly.

 

“Try this one,” he insisted, shoving a horrendously orange cupcake at Peter. Their arrangement had been going on for the entire month Johnny had been in business, and it was approaching Halloween. He was looking for themed desserts he could try for the season, and he was pretty sure his pumpkin spice cupcakes with pumpkin pie frosting would go over well.

 

Peter happily took a bite, letting out a faint moan of appreciation. “Oh man, that is like Halloween heaven. What’s that, pumpkin pie cake?”

 

“Sort of,” Johnny smirked, “pumpkin spice. Similar, but heavier on the spice cabinet, less so on the pie filling. That’s in the frosting, instead.”

 

Peter nodded. “It’s really good, man. But word to the wise, try to make it a little less, uh, vivid, maybe? I’ll eat anything you think up, but some customers can be put off by bright colors that aren’t actually from fruit filling.”

 

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling a little with embarrassment. “Yeah, sorry, overdid it on the food dye. Thought maybe I could make it look like a pumpkin but it came out more like a traffic cone, huh?”

 

“Dude,” Peter snorted, “you practically handed me a cupcake with a spray tan!”

 

“Because you would totally know a spray tan if it bit you in the ass.”

 

“Better I get a spray tan than I look like your pasty ass, yeah.” They grinned at each other. Peter still had horrific orange crumbs in his teeth, but looking at him in the soft lighting of the bakery with the twilight sun coming through the front window, Johnny felt his heart jump in his chest.

 

Uh-oh.

 

\-----------------------------

 

Peter continued to come by everyday, and he started bringing his laptop along so he could come earlier and stay longer. He would come in as soon as he got out of classes and plant himself at the corner table where he spread out his notebooks and pencils before coming to the back to get a ridiculously large cup of coffee.

 

Johnny was glad Peter would come and help himself because he knew if they stopped to talk in the middle of the day, Johnny would spend all his time with Pete instead of helping paying customers. Occasionally Peter would tell him about some new fiasco that happened at the newspaper where he worked, which always made Johnny laugh. Peter would end up joining in when Johnny laughed as if the hilarity of a situation only hit him once he had retold the story. Johnny loved those moments, when Peter would let go of his stress and just enjoy life and smile like Johnny was the greatest thing he’d ever seen.

 

Although the smiles were probably for his own stories. Because Peter considered Johnny a friend, and just that.

 

And Johnny only saw Pete as a friend.

 

Right?

 

...right.

 

The weather was getting colder, but the bakery was always pleasantly warm. Most of the time when Peter came in from the cold, he would have to unbundle layer upon layer of outerwear before Johnny actually caught a glimpse of the beautifully flushed skin underneath. Johnny always ran hot himself, but Peter always came in whining about the cold and how his ears were totally going to freeze off and then he would have to evolve to develop ESP or something to be able to function.

 

Or something like that. Johnny tended to smile and nod a lot when Peter ranted like that, a little too distracted by the pink in his cheeks and his windswept mop of hair to really follow.

 

After midterms ended around Thanksgiving, Peter’s workload seemed to get a little lighter. He would close down his laptop shortly before closing and put away all his notebooks except one. Johnny never asked what Peter was working on, but one morning he found a sketch of the bakery abandoned where it must have fallen under Peter’s usual table at opening. The picture was incredibly well done, with the attention to detail that could only have come from a regular of the bakery. The bakery in the sketch was decorated for the holidays, which Johnny and Peter had done to the real shop only a few days before.

 

Johnny smiled softly as he studied the picture. He took it to the back and tacked it on the fridge. Peter would probably see it when he came in later that day and be embarrassed, but Johnny liked the look of Peter’s work in the bakery. It was a tangible display of the friendship they had cultivated over the last few months, as well as proof that Peter spent enough time hanging around to capture the spirit of the bakery so perfectly, even in pencil on lined paper.

 

When Peter saw the picture on the fridge later, he didn’t say anything, but his sudden hot blush told Johnny that he had noticed it. For Christmas, he gave Peter a real sketchpad and a set of new graphite drawing pencils.

 

After that, Peter started packing up his homework or work or whatever he was doing at least twenty minutes before closing, then drawing at the counter while Johnny cleaned up and selected the new taster item for the evening. The fridge in the back was littered with his sketches, and a few framed images had been hung on the shop walls around the tables.

 

Johnny’s favorite was the silly picture Peter had sketched on a napkin one night, of Johnny dancing with a mop around the store, wearing a frilly apron he totally did not have in real life, covered in flour and frosting. He taped it on the register so he saw it throughout the day until Peter came back.

 

\-----------------------------

 

The morning of New Year’s Eve saw the bakery packed with customers. Everyone wanted last minute orders for last minute parties, and Johnny barely had time to wave hello to Peter when he walked in, let alone stop to chat. Peter seemed to get it, settling himself in his usual table with a coffee and a special New Year’s cupcake--champagne cake and frosting, complete with rock candy New Year’s ball detail and mini-fireworks made of pop rocks.

 

Johnny didn’t get a moment to breathe until it was time to close, thankful that he could close early on the holiday. Peter relocated to the counter as Johnny finished cleaning up, distractedly sucking the remainder of his dessert off his fingers. Johnny tried not to stare, knowing he was still probably being really obvious, and hating it.

 

“Got any New Year’s plans, Pete?” Hopefully trying to actually hold a conversation would keep him from getting distracted by Peter’s stupid little licks to get every last crumb and smear of frosting off his skin.

 

“Nope,” Peter drawled, popping the ‘p’ as he released the last of his fingers from between his lips. “I mean, I’ve gotten a couple of invites to big glitzy parties, but they’re not really my scene, you know?”

 

“Yeah, I can tell,” Johnny smirked, observing Peter’s scuffed sneakers, crooked glasses, and graphite smudged hands. He grinned slightly at the visible evidence that Pete had been using the pencils he got him for Christmas.

 

“Hey!” It was said without heat, but Peter’s face was definitely turning pink. It was, as always, a good look on him.

 

“So, if you don’t have any plans, why don’t you join me in the back for some real champagne then? And I’ve got leftover New Year’s cupcakes that aren’t gonna last,” Johnny offered as he wiped down the counter, leaning just slightly over into Peter’s space. The blush didn’t dissipate. Johnny tried not to let his smirk show, even as he felt his own skin heat a tinge as his heart rate picked up.

 

“I’d love to. Beats standing awkwardly alone amidst all the couples kissing at midnight.”

 

Now it was Johnny’s turn to heat up in earnest, having completely forgotten about the New Year’s kiss tradition. He ushered Peter into the back, hoping it had gone unnoticed.

 

The tray of extra cupcakes was still out on the counter, and Johnny gestured to it while he went to the fridge to pull out the leftover champagne he had from making them. He turned around to see Peter was already halfway through another cupcake. He raised an eyebrow, and Peter just gave him a sheepish grin, complete with cake crumbs and the subtle crackling from the pop rocks. Johnny rolled his eyes and searched the cabinets for suitable glasses, finally settling for a pair of relatively small measuring cups.

 

“Really, measuring cups? I thought you had at least a little bit of class, Storm,” Peter teased, already reaching for another cupcake.

 

“Shut up and drink your champagne,” Johnny snarked as he poured them generous portions. Peter stuck his tongue out, but waited to toast cups with Johnny before drinking.

 

They sat like that for a while, steadily consuming champagne and cupcakes, talking about nothing and everything. Johnny quickly realized Peter couldn’t hold his alcohol at all, because it didn’t take long before he was loose-limbed and rosy cheeked. Eventually Johnny felt the warmth of the alcohol seeping into his blood as well, heating him from within, and shed the “respectable” button down he wore for work in favor of the t-shirt he wore underneath.

 

“Free licks? What is that supposed to mean?” Peter asked, staring at Johnny’s chest as he did a good job of his own licking at the frosting he invariably got all over himself, which seemed even sloppier when he was so obviously beyond just tipsy.

 

“What do you want it to mean?” Johnny tried to ask casually, but his voice was low and a little bit wrecked, revealing a bit more of his real investment in the question than he intended. Maybe he couldn’t hold his alcohol all that well, either. He took another sip from his measuring cup to quiet the voice in his head that was telling him this was a bad idea.

 

“Well, then I think it means…” Peter stood up, swaying just a little. Johnny held his breath. Peter picked up the last of the cupcakes and stopped right in front of Johnny.

 

“I think it means that you get a free lick of the frosting even though I get to eat the last cupcake.” Johnny stared incredulously at Peter’s seemingly innocent grin, before bursting into laughter.

 

“Well, in that case…”  Johnny leaned forward, keeping his eyes on Peter, and licked a generous amount of the frosting off the cake. Peter watched, fascinated, as Johnny slowly ate the icing,  then ran his tongue carefully over his lips to get every last taste of sugar.

 

Peter stared at Johnny’s lips, frozen for a moment before he seemed to remember he was still holding a cupcake. Peter attempted to mimic Johnny’s teasing before getting distracted by the flavor and eating the dessert the way he always did: quickly, and heedless of the fact that anyone might be watching. Johnny felt an indulgent smile spread across his face, content to enjoy Peter’s appreciation of the dessert, glad that his baking was the cause.

 

“It’s almost time for the ball to drop,” Johnny announced as he glanced at his watch while Peter finished the cake. “Want to go watch upstairs?”

 

“Sure,” Peter was still wobbly on his feet, and Johnny resolutely did not watch as Peter cleaned the last smears of frosting from his hands with his tongue.

 

They stumbled up the stairs, laughing and shushing each other despite there being no one else around to disturb. Finally, they made it to the couch. Johnny flopped down, clicking the TV on to the first station showing the ball drop. Peter tripped, landing half on Johnny with a yelped giggle. Rather than climb off, Peter just snuggled in, still half on Johnny’s lap. Johnny’s face was burning, but he did his best to ignore it as the ball started its descent.

 

Johnny could feel Peter’s breath on his cheek as they counted down the seconds and kept his focus on the TV. The timer hit zero and Times Square exploded in cheers and movement, confetti everywhere. The camera panned over a multitude of couples kissing, celebrating a brand new year.

 

“Happy New Year, Pete.” Johnny finally turned to look at Peter, only to find his face right there, looking right back at him. Johnny froze, not sure what Peter was doing.

 

Peter leaned closer, their lips nearly touching, breaths mingling together. “You know, Cupcake…” he drawled, as if testing out the sound of a word that had been in his head for a while. Johnny held absolutely still, despite his confusion at the nickname. Peter smirked wickedly, so close to Johnny’s face that he was sure he was dreaming. This couldn’t actually be happening. “Some people say that the lead up to a kiss is the best part.”

 

“Really?” Johnny’s voice was breathless, aware of every fiery point of contact between the two of them. Peter was still mostly in his lap, and Johnny could feel Pete’s hands bracing him in place even as he rotated to face him. One sticky hand was clutching at his chest keeping Peter facing him, and his thigh burned where Pete’s other hand suddenly landed to keep him upright.

 

Peter didn’t respond. His head dropped for a moment, landing on Johnny’s shoulder. The contact scorched as alcohol-warmed skin met the goose-bumped flesh of Johnny’s neck. Peter must have blinked because Johnny could feel the soft tickle of eyelashes near his pulse point, like a fluttering kiss. He couldn’t repress the tiny shiver or the whimper that escaped his lips at the sensation.

 

Despite his inebriated state, Peter’s head whipped back to its previous position, his eyes locked with Johnny’s before his sight line fell and held with laser focus on Johnny’s lips. Johnny fought the shudder that ran through his limbs as he felt the weight of Peter’s gaze, even more intense than the small thrills of pleasure from everywhere they touched.

 

His eyes suddenly darted back up to Johnny’s and held them. They sat, locked in the staring contest for what felt like ages, neither moving as their faces hovered close to each other. Johnny felt every exhale of Peter’s champagne and sugar breath over his own lips, warm and sweet. He licked his lips, trying to see if he could taste the scent his breath carried. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought his tongue may have brushed over the edge of Peter’s lip as it swept across his own.

 

He had to remind himself with every breath that this wasn’t happening, that it couldn’t be real, he couldn’t be sitting like this with Peter, because there was no way he could, if presented with this chance, not be devouring Peter’s mouth right now. Without breaking their eye contact, Peter’s head tilted ever so slightly, as if about to slot their mouths together, like he could read Johnny’s mind.

 

So close. All either would have to do would be just move a hair’s breadth and they would be kissing. Johnny wanted, desperately, to move, but determinedly left control of whatever it was that was happening to Peter.

 

Finally, Peter broke the silence. “Yeah. The anticipation is what’s important. The build up. The kiss itself almost doesn’t matter.” Peter’s voice wasn’t much better than Johnny’s had been, low and quiet.

 

He heard a sigh, but wasn’t sure which one of them it came from. Probably him, since he didn’t feel Peter’s air ghosting across his skin to go along with the sound. “Is that what we’re doing?” Johnny could barely manage to get the words out, eyes fluttering closed. He wasn’t even sure what he was asking. Something told his muddled brain that the question hadn’t really made sense, but he knew Peter wasn’t really trying to have a conversation. They were still close, probably too close, and he had to break the eye contact or he would break under Peter’s intense scrutiny, spilling all his building feelings from months of longing or surging forward to seek out that unrealized kiss.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so, Cupcake.”

 

The sugary nickname again. Johnny let out another little sigh of air. “I can do that.”

 

The almost-kiss lasted for a moment longer, before Peter finally pulled away. Rather than get off Johnny’s lap or the couch, Peter pulled his feet up onto the couch too, snuggling down into Johnny, already half-asleep. Despite everything, Johnny felt a soft smile form on his face, scooting down to get comfortable as well.

 

Cuddling. He could do that, too.

 

\-----------------------------

 

The sun was not welcome to enter his apartment, Johnny decided.

 

He groggily attempted to roll over, trying in vain to keep the bright rays from piercing through his eyes into his brain. His head was pounding and his stomach rolled in protest of the weak movement. He groaned, trying to figure out why his body seemed to be trying to eat itself from the inside out and why he couldn’t move.

 

Finally the pulsing in his head lulled enough for him to realize that he couldn’t move because there was a solid weight on top of his chest. His eyes flew open and his head pounded in protest, but his heart kicked into high gear at the sight that greeted him.

 

Peter was sprawled across him, taking up more of the couch than Johnny thought any one man really had the right to do while looking so hopelessly adorable. His hair was matted against his forehead in the front, the rest mussed ridiculously around the back of his head. His eyes were scrunched up as if he was trying to keep the sun out even before waking. His mouth hung slack, and Johnny was pretty sure the guy was drooling just the tiniest bit. It should have been disgusting, but Johnny mostly just wanted to take a picture of him just like this and frame it for the bakery kitchen. Peter was beautiful when he slept.

 

Johnny tried to recall how exactly he had ended up sleeping on his couch playing mattress for Peter. He remembered the champagne and the cupcakes and the stupid drunken giggling that both had indulged in with clear disregard for their masculinity. He remembered Peter kept calling him Cupcake and laughed a bit, even though the movement made his head and stomach rebel.

 

But something else had happened, too. It was just beyond the reach of his memory, as if he could recall it only in snatches. It felt like a weird sort of dream, and Johnny couldn’t even be sure it had happened. He thought they had almost kissed, drifting and teasing each other with the potential of what might come to pass for what felt like ages.

 

Nothing had happened, though. Johnny knew he would remember if it had gone any farther than that. Besides, they were both fully clothed on his couch. Clearly things had stayed innocent, no matter how much that tended not to be true in Johnny’s actual dreams these days.

 

A tiny moan alerted Johnny to the fact that Peter was waking up. He tried to stay still so as not to jostle the guy’s head, which had to be pounding at least as badly as Johnny’s considering that he had had more to drink and seemed more out of it the night before.

 

“Ngh,” Peter grunted, head burrowing weakly into Johnny’s chest to block out the light. “Why do I feel like I died?” he croaked.

 

Johnny hummed his laughter, trying to keep quiet. “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered, careful of Peter’s hangover.

 

“What happened last night?” Peter groaned, stiffly sitting up and rubbing his hands over his eyes and through his hair, still without actually opening his eyes. “How’d we end up at your place?”

 

“Mm, not much of a drinker, are we?” Johnny teased lightly. “Well, Sunshine, we ended up here to watch the ball drop after imbibing apparently far too much champagne.”

 

“Don’t use words like imbibe right now, I can’t think beyond a second grade level,” Peter whined. “God, I never want to see alcohol again.”

 

Johnny hesitated. “How much do you remember, Pete?”

 

Peter finally opened his eyes blearily. He squinted at Johnny as if he wasn’t quite sure where he had seen him before. “I remember eating, like, a whole tray of cupcakes and using measuring cups for glasses. Great idea, by the way. My pickled brain really thanks you. Ugh, I think I might hurl.”

 

Johnny flicked his shoulder, conscious that his head was clearly off-limits if he didn’t want them both to end up covered in vomit. “Anything else, college boy?”

 

Peter stared at him blankly, then a look of horror came over his face. “I did something really unmanly and embarrassing, didn’t I?”

 

Johnny sighed, trying to hide his disappointment with a chuckle. “Just giggled a lot and decided Cupcake should be my new nickname,” he offered, unsure what to say about the almost-kiss he thought they had maybe sort of shared.

 

Peter groaned. “Yeah, that is bad. Cupcake, really? I called you Cupcake?”

 

Johnny grinned. “Yes, indeed.” He added, with a lewd wink, “Sugar.”

 

Peter made another adorably disgusted face. “Oh god. This is going to stick around to haunt me, isn’t it? This is going to be a thing. Are we officially Cupcake and Sugar now?”

 

Johnny laughed for real this time, then winced along with Peter as both of their heads pounded as a result. “Yeah, Sugar, guess we are.”

 

\----------------------------

 

Johnny stuck his tongue out in concentration. He had to get this perfect. The perfect cupcake. He was going out on a limb here with the decorating to ask Peter on a Valentine’s date for the next day, but he thought it would probably be well-received after the particular closeness they had enjoyed in the month and a half following the almost-kiss of New Year’s. Sure, in retrospect, maybe he should have tried a medium that was a little easier to work with, but he was in too deep now to try something else, and he needed to know how Peter felt about him too badly to try again a different day.

 

And besides, Peter loved his baking. The smile Peter would get everytime he tried one of Johnny’s new and wild creations, well. Who could blame him for falling a little bit in love with the guy?

 

It didn’t exactly help that Johnny’s untested desserts tended to be on the messy side, and that inevitably led to a lot of lip licking and finger sucking, which did nothing for Johnny’s peace of mind.

 

He was man enough to admit to himself that his creations since New Year’s had definitely been sloppier than most of his earlier experiments. Peter never said anything about them, just continued to lick his fingers contentedly when he was done, sucking them clean as usual. But neither of those could be on purpose. Totally not.

 

So asking him out via cupcake it was. It was one of Peter’s favorite recipes, and if he could just get the frosting to spell out, “Go out with me?” everything would be perfect. Of course, raspberry writing gel--made with real raspberries--was particularly hard to write with, despite the name, and he was having even more difficulty than usual getting the icing to come out the way he wanted. And really, why did Peter’s favorite flavors have to be chocolate and raspberry? Raspberry gel doesn’t exactly stand out against chocolate icing.

 

Again, in retrospect, he could have planned this better. Or just sucked it up and used vanilla icing. Or white chocolate. Damnit.

 

“Hey, Johnny! You bake yourself into a pie by mistake or something?” Peter called from the front. Johnny glanced at the clock, and realized with a jolt the shop had been closed for about ten minutes now. Usually he was out there the minute they were officially closed, ready with a new treat for his favorite (and only) taste-tester.

 

“Uh, gimme a minute, Pete. Just finishing up!”

 

“Hurry up, then. I can’t be late, or Jameson will have my head!” Peter trailed off into mutterings about his crotchety boss. Johnny smiled, before realizing that he had even less time than he thought if Peter had work today.

 

Johnny scrambled to finish writing with the gel before Peter could wander into the back, or worse, out the door, wincing as the ‘m’ and the ‘e’ oozed together, and the question mark ended up partially eclipsing the other words. It would have to do.

 

“Hey, Pete. Sorry about that.” Johnny came out of the kitchen, cradling the oh-so-important cupcake in his hands. Peter was standing by the counter, looking bemused, but he already had his coat on and was wrapping his ridiculous blue and red scarf around his neck. Johnny felt a nervous sweat break out that had nothing to do with working in a hot kitchen.

 

“It’s cool, Cupcake. I hope whatever you were doing back there was was worth it.”

 

“I hope so, too. Here, Sugar, your favorites,” Johnny held out the cupcake, hoping the slight shake in his voice wasn’t that obvious.

 

Peter gave him a strange look, which implied that, no, the catch in his voice was that obvious, but he took the cupcake without questioning it. Johnny waited with bated breath while Peter watched his face, unwilling to say anything until Peter read the cupcake. Peter finally looked away only to glance at the clock, and his eyes bugged out as he saw the time.

 

“Aw man, I’m really gonna be late now! Thanks for the cupcake, Cupcake!” And without even looking at it, without even seeing all of Johnny’s hard work, Peter took a huge bite, smearing the frosting on his nose as he rushed towards the door.

 

Johnny must have involuntarily made some kind of strangled noise because Peter paused in the doorway, looking back at Johnny questioningly. He still had chocolate and raspberry frosting on his face.

 

Johnny let out the breath he’d been holding and pasted on what he hoped was a convincing grin. “You’ve got a bit of frosting on you.” He gestured to his own nose, and Peter blushed adorably, smiling embarrassedly back at Johnny.

 

“Thanks, man.” Peter rubbed at his nose, quickly licking the frosting off his fingers. Johnny felt his eye twitch.

 

“Hey, are you okay…?” Peter was still poised to leave, thoughts of Jameson’s wrath hanging over his head, but he stared back at Johnny, a concerned look on his face.

 

Johnny forced his smile to become more genuine. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow?” He couldn’t help the hopeful, questioning lilt to his voice.

 

Peter grinned and winked. “Like I could pass up on these goods, Cupcake. See you, man!” And then Peter was gone, shoving the rest of the cupcake into his mouth and almost definitely getting more frosting on his face.

 

Johnny stared at the door long after Peter was gone from view, slumped against the counter watching snow flurries start to fall.

 

\-------------------------------

 

“I hate him.”

 

Johnny couldn’t hold back his snort at Peter’s melodrama. “Dude, you already quit, I don’t see why you’re still whining about how much your job sucked.”

 

“I’m not whining! I’m trying to explain why it was a good decision for me to stop working for a tyrant who thought he owned my ass and could call me in whenever no one else would take his stupid assignments,” Peter explained in what Johnny was sure he thought was a dignified manner.

 

Johnny threw his hands up in mock-surrender, ignoring the puffs of cinnamon that floated up from where he had been mixing baklava filling by hand. “Got it. Jameson is a dick. Duly noted. Thank goodness you’re no longer his employee, you might do something drastic like quit!” Okay, maybe surrender wasn’t even his pretend intention. He couldn’t help it. Peter was adorable when riled up like this, cheeks flushed with indignation and embarrassment.

 

“Don’t patronize me,” he pouted. “I’m in crisis, here. I’m unemployed now. And in today’s job market? I might as well move in here since I can’t afford to feed myself other than from your weird-ass experiments now.”

 

“You love my weird-ass experiments, Sugar,” Johnny chuckled. “And again, unemployment is sort of your own fault right now.”

 

“Okay, so I didn’t really think this one through, sue me! Wait, don’t, I’m broke. But Jameson sucks and I couldn’t work for him anymore.”

 

Johnny sighed and resisted the urge to scrub a hand through his hair. Cinnamon was a bitch to get out of blond. “I know, Pete.” And he did. Peter hadn’t liked his job when they had met, but over the last month or so he had steadily become more and more inclined to rant about how awful his boss was instead of telling funny stories about coworkers. Johnny couldn’t begrudge him quitting. Jameson was a Grade-A Certified Jerk.

 

They sat in relative silence for a few minutes, the only sound Johnny’s gentle tossing of the nuts and spices to put in his baklava. Peter looked progressively more miserable as he sat, clearly stewing in his hasty decision to quit his job at the Daily Bugle.

 

Finally Johnny couldn’t take it anymore. “Look, man,” he awkwardly offered, “my sister is with a scientist. You do science stuff, right? I bet he could see about helping you find a new gig. He doesn’t have any positions available himself, I think, but I know he sometimes consults at StarkIndustries and they have a lot of young interns that they hire each year. I bet he could get you an in there, if you’d want that.”

 

Peter’s eyes widened comically. “StarkIndustries? As in work for Tony Stark? Multibillionaire genius weapons contractor and notorious playboy, Tony Stark? Whoa. I mean, just--whoa.”

 

Johnny shrugged, not really sure what all the fuss was about. Yeah, the guy was brilliant and famous, but a job’s a job and working for someone like Stark couldn’t be any worse than the previous situation with Jameson. “Guess so. You want me to get you the contact info?”

 

Peter nodded quickly, clearly still disbelieving his stroke of good fortune. “That would be incredible, man. Oh wow. I bet if I work there I’ll even run into the famous Pepper Potts!” That one Johnny understood. He thought he remembered that Potts was pretty hot, for someone who had been on the cover of one of Sue’s business magazines. “Thanks, Jay. I can’t believe you would do this for me.”

 

Johnny shrugged. “Not like it’s a guarantee or anything. Just a shot. But no problem. I would do anything for you, Pete.” The words were coming out without his permission now. Johnny needed to shut up before he said something damaging and stupid. “You’re really special to me.” Too late. Why couldn’t he stop talking?

 

Peter smiled broadly, apparently still not having noticed Johnny’s completely inappropriate crush on him. “You’re special to me, too, Cupcake,” he said with a wink before snagging a walnut that had been knocked out of Johnny’s bowl and tossing it into his mouth with a tiny pop that shouldn’t have been as distracting as Johnny thought it was.

 

\------------------------------

 

It went on like this for a few more weeks, with Johnny awkwardly trying to tell Peter how he felt and Peter not getting it, just grinning like he was telling an awesome joke each time. Johnny was finally ready to give it up as a bad job. Peter never seemed to pick up on his feelings and there was no way he was ready to try the last fiasco of a date invite again. Maybe the guy was just straight or something.

 

Whatever. Johnny was done trying to win him over. They could just be friends. Johnny could do friends. He tried more than friends and got nowhere, but he was good at trying new things. He didn’t need to prove himself to anyone.

 

The tinny ring of the bell over the door interrupted his musings. A tall, well-kempt woman with a serious expression walked through the door in impossibly high heels, a business suit, and an air of disdain. Johnny immediately felt himself stand up straighter to impress her.

 

Okay, so maybe he still felt the need to prove himself to people.

 

The woman strutted up to the counter as if she owned the place, and from the way she looked around as if she was disgusted with herself for having entered, he wondered if maybe she was his new landlady or something. There was something familiar about her, like he had seen her before, but he couldn’t place where.

 

“Hi, can I help you?” he asked politely, trying not to show any fear or anger at her clear disapproval of the vibrant green St. Patrick’s themed cookies and cakes she could see in his display case.

 

“Yes,” she said, snapping out of her private disgust. “I need to order a wedding cake. Do you do those?”

 

Johnny grinned. “Yes, Ma’am. May I ask what you have in mind?”

 

She pursed her lips and Johnny could almost see the money she had spent on that ridiculous shade of fuschia lipstick, then had a moment of hating himself but mostly Sue for the fact that he knew what color fuschia even was.

 

“We need it to be pretty big,” she said, looking at the display case again. “This wedding is...high profile.” Johnny nodded, looking at her hard. She did look pretty familiar but he still couldn’t figure out quite how he recognized her. “And before we agree to order from you, I need to know that you’re alright with gay marriage. I won’t buy a cake for these boys from a baker who can’t be happy for them.”

 

Johnny resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Yeah, definitely no problem with gay marriage. He had a problem with trying to get his own gay wedding fantasy to come true, but he wouldn’t begrudge whatever lucky bastards could get themselves together for the happy ending he wanted.

 

“Of course, Ma’am. That’s not a problem. Congratulations to the happy couple, of course. May I ask who my customers are, and what it is that they’re looking for in a cake?”

 

She paused, as if trying to decide whether to share the information. Johnny tried hard to look harmless, although Peter told him frequently that it was a lost cause. But what did Peter know, anyway?

 

“The grooms are Mr. Tony Stark and Captain Steven Rogers,” she finally sighed.

 

Johnny’s eyes were probably bugging out of his head, but he couldn’t contain himself. Was he really being asked to bake a wedding cake for Peter’s new boss? “Stark? As in, the Tony Stark? Multibillionaire genius weapons contractor and notorious playboy, Tony Stark?” He found himself repeating Peter’s words at finding out there might be a job opportunity with the guy’s company, finally understanding his excitement at the prospect. So then this must be Pepper Potts, from that magazine cover. “Oh man, so you must be the famous Pepper Potts! Wow.” Whoops, there went his mouth again, forgetting to ask for permission. Damnit.

 

The woman scowled at Johnny and he tried to school his features into a less offensive gape. “Pleasure to meet you,” she deadpanned. “And Mr. Stark is no longer in the weapons business. He and Captain Rogers met when they were both wounded in an attack on our troops while Mr. Stark was visiting the military base where he was stationed. They’re very happy together and would just like to have a normal wedding like any other happy couple.”

 

“Of course,” Johnny backpedaled. “No, totally. Sorry, just...surprised. Wow. Good, uh, good for them.”

 

Even Tony freaking Stark could fall for a man, but Peter couldn’t? What the hell?

 

“Of course,” she repeated with a faint note of exasperation. Johnny figured that she probably had to deal with this kind of nonsense all the time and felt bad.

 

“Well, Ms. Potts, I would be honored to help them celebrate their wedding. Size isn’t an issue for the cake. I can make up to seven layers, and if they really want bigger, there are bigger pans I can get to make it happen.”

 

Finally, she cracked a real smile. “No, thank you, Mr. Storm.” He must have looked surprised that she knew his name, since she raised a well-manicured eyebrow and smirked delicately. She continued, “I have a feeling that if I allowed Tony to pick the cake, we would have a twelve layer monstrosity on our hands. I’ll be going with Captain Rogers’ tastes on this one, since he’s the one who has any sense of style and artistry. Four large layers should suffice. We only need to serve about a hundred people, maybe a few more. The couple has, thankfully, decided to scale down their reception immensely from the initial expected guest list.”

 

“Four layers? No problem. That’s pretty standard for this part of the city, Ma’am. And the flavor?”

 

She sighed. “What else with these boys? We need the cake to be red velvet with white fondant frosting and gold flake detailing, but...here’s the bizarre part. Can you make the filling out of latte frosting? I know it’s not a typical cake filler but Tony had it once on some stupid gourmet cupcake he stole from a new intern and he’s been obsessed with the stuff ever since. It has espresso in it, so I think he confused it with health food somehow.”

 

Johnny couldn’t hold back a small snort of laughter. Peter had come over a couple days after starting his new job, complaining that his boss nicked his cupcake that day. Must have been the day he tried an assortment of coffee-themed baked goods. “That’s not exactly standard fare, but it should be fine, Ms. Potts. I think I can pull it off. I’ve yet to meet the baking challenge I can’t handle,” he grinned, hoping to clinch the deal. Clearly he could do it, since it was apparently his cupcake that inspired the order.

 

She finally appeared to relax a tiny bit. “Great. Okay. You’re hired.”

 

He smiled, but had to ask, “You sure you don’t want to taste a sample before you sign me on?”

 

She gave him a wry smile and shook her head, her hair bouncing slightly in its perfectly groomed waves. “No, you’re it. Mr. Stark was quite clear that he heard you had the best stuff in town and he wouldn’t hear of trying anyone else’s cake. Some intern apparently ranted at length about how good your stuff is and how he comes here every morning.”

 

So Peter talked about him at work and still tried to drum up business for the bakery. Huh.

 

Potts continued, “Tony’s always had some impulse control issues, and when his sweet tooth comes into play that goes double. Steve is happy to go with whatever Tony wants, within reason, as long as it appeals to his aesthetic standards. Guy used to be an artist, so he really just likes to look at things. He’s doing most of the wedding planning with me, obviously,” she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

 

He laughed along with her, glad to see that her skepticism had apparently abated enough to hire him. “Can do, Ms. Potts. When’s the wedding?”

 

“Two months,” she said, frowning slightly. “I know that’s relatively soon for an order like this-”

 

“Not to worry,” he assured her. “I can do whatever you need within a week. I won’t make it until a day or so before the wedding, but you ordered in plenty of time. You can send me any more details about the order within the next month and I should be able to add it.”

 

“Wonderful, Mr. Storm. I’ll be in touch next week with details and a contract. So for now, I believe that’s it. Have a wonderful day!” she chirped as she turned on her heel and strutted back out of his door.

 

“You, too!” he called after her as the door swung shut.

 

A cake for Tony Stark’s wedding. Wow. That was the greatest order he’d gotten since they opened.

 

And Stark was marrying a man. Maybe miracles could happen.

 

And the guy was an artist. Just like Peter.

 

Crap. Artist? Aesthetic standards?

 

Oh man. They wanted a pretty cake. For Tony freaking Stark’s wedding to a miracle-man artist.

 

Johnny was doomed.

 

\--------------------------------

 

The Stark-Rogers wedding was in two weeks. Johnny had mostly pushed his impending social death by failed pretty cake out of his mind, but now it was starting to come back.

 

The red velvet cake would be no problem. White fondant was also a standard trick of the trade, so the icing would be easy. Latte frosting filling was weird and had been a one-off experiment for him before, but who cared if the inside of a cake was pretty as long as it tasted good? That much he knew he could do.

 

Johnny was worried about the rest, though. Ms. Potts had sent over a sketch done by Captain Rogers of some ideas he had for the cake. And when she had said he was an artist, she hadn’t been kidding.

 

The guy had drawn all sorts of elaborate and annoyingly delicate patterns, and apparently he wanted a different one for each layer of the cake. The whorls on the base of the bottom layer should have been easy, but since Stark wanted all the decorations in gold leaf flake, even those seemed impossibly difficult. And if Johnny couldn’t even do a few loopy swirls, how on earth was he supposed to do the fancy interlocking vine pattern of the rest of the bottom layer? Or the weird intricate repeating sequence that Johnny couldn’t understand on the second layer? Or the swooping scalloped edge on the third layer? Or worse, the tiny interlocking patterns and outward explosion of shapes on the top layer?

 

The bakery had been closed for a while now, but Johnny had lost track of how long, exactly. Tonight Peter had offered to close and clean, since he knew Johnny was working on a project that was occupying most of his brain.

 

He was in the kitchen, sketching out the patterns again and again, trying to teach his hands the movements before he wasted the baking supplies on them, and didn’t hear Peter come in. He jumped when he suddenly felt Peter’s hand on his shoulder, drawing a heavy line straight through the swirl he had been perfecting.

 

“Damnit, Pete! You scared me! And I almost had that one,” Johnny huffed, trying not to scowl. Peter had an adorably confused and concerned look on his face.

 

“You alright, Johnny? I was calling you for like, two minutes. Man, this wedding cake is really getting to you. Let me take a look.”

 

Before Johnny could protest, Peter shoved into his space and leaned over in front of him to study Rogers’ drawings. It was an unspoken rule of theirs that Johnny’s kitchen was his territory and Peter was only allowed to be his know-it-all self out in the front part of the bakery, but Johnny was officially at his breaking point so he allowed it.

 

“Cool, tessellations and fractals! No wonder these are giving you problems, man. I can hardly draw these and I spent a ton of time in class practicing.” Peter grinned. “These are pretty fun, actually, when you don’t have super gross ones that look like biological things gone wrong.”

 

Johnny scoffed. “Yeah, easy for you to say, geekboy. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly a math nerd or an artist so these are a little, I don’t know, impossible for me? And I only have a couple weeks to practice, not years like you!”

 

Peter snorted. “Well lucky for you that I’m both, then, huh Cupcake?”

 

Johnny opened his mouth to retort, then paused. He probably looked stupid, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes bugged out like his brain had frozen, but that was basically what had happened. “Huh,” he gaped in agreement. “Wait, what?”

 

“I’m a math nerd and an artist. I can help.”

 

He couldn’t come up with a good reason why that would be a bad idea. He glanced around the kitchen, covered in Peter’s sketches from the past year. His eyes settled on the first one he had found, back before Christmas, its lined paper spattered with flour and cinnamon and powdered sugar after months in his kitchen.

 

“Okay.” It took him a moment to realize that the agreement had just fallen from his own lips, but with the way Peter’s eyes lit up in excitement, he couldn’t bring himself to be bothered by it.

 

\--------------------------

 

Johnny baked the cake. He sealed the layers in the stupid frosting and coated the whole cake with fondant. It was perfect, a completely blank canvas waiting for an artist to make it something special. Peter was due in the bakery in about ten minutes, so Johnny set up everything he would need to apply the gold leafing.

 

Johnny tried not to glare at the cake while he was waiting. It wasn’t the cake’s fault that someone else got to be happy while Johnny was just pining away after Peter, really. And it wasn’t Stark or Rogers’ faults, or even Ms. Potts’. Johnny was just in a bad mood since he and Peter had spent the last few days practicing making wedding cakes, laughing and just enjoying being together--but they weren’t together, not like the stupid happy grooms getting the cake. They weren’t making the cake for their own progressing relationship, namely because their relationship was not progressing. At all. Never mind to marriage.

 

He decided that the cake shouldn’t be subjected to his foul mood or it would probably turn ugly just to spite him. He decided to go take out his frustration on some loaves of bread that hadn’t been kneaded yet, but found that the dough hadn’t been sitting in the fridge quite long enough to rise to the point where he could keep working on it. He changed his mind and ran through what he would need to make a pecan pie, since at least crushing the nuts for the pie filling and to make the crust would give him some satisfaction.

 

He didn’t have any more pecans in the freezer in the main kitchen, so he went to go dig around in the enormous walk-in freezer at the very back of the building. It took him a few minutes to locate the pecans, then another minute or two to put everything back into a state where the door was fully accessible. Then he spent an extra moment ensuring that the freezer was properly locked so his stock wouldn’t defrost and go bad.

 

When he finally returned to the baking kitchen, oversized bag of nuts in hand, Peter was already at the counter by the waiting wedding cake. He was wrapping an apron around his ridiculously skinny frame, which Johnny couldn’t believe he had maintained despite month after month of daily baked goods. He was having some trouble tying a knot behind his neck, since the movement was totally unfamiliar to him from that angle or without being able to see what he was doing.

 

Johnny dropped the pecans on the counter and rushed over to help. “Here, I got it,” he offered, already batting Peter’s fumbling fingers away from the knot. “Gimme, you dope,” he groused, “you’ll tie your stupid floppy hair in and then you’ll whine when I make you take it off to give the damned thing back.”

 

Damnit. Peter’s trademark blush was back, and Johnny did not need to know that the flush extended to his neck and around his shoulders. He tried to force himself not to allow his breath to ghost over Peter’s skin, but with such proximity he couldn’t help but be entranced by the faint goosebumps that broke out over Peter’s warm skin.

 

He pulled back slightly, but allowed his hands to drift down Peter’s shoulders, skating over his long back to the other set of ties on the apron. He tugged at the awkward loop Peter had managed, quickly and efficiently securing it in a slip knot so Peter’s clothes would be protected from dirt but he could remove the cover without much difficulty.

 

He thought he noticed a slight shiver run through Peter before he tensed up and held perfectly still, but figured he was probably just cold. The guy was always whining about how cold he was, especially since Johnny ran hot and kept his kitchen stupidly cold to be comfortable while he baked.

 

Johnny stepped back, suddenly exhausted. His head dropped and he sighed. “I’m gonna leave you to it, then,” he mumbled, picking up the pecans on the counter and packing them away in the main freezer. He yanked off his own apron and hung it on its hook on the wall before waving tiredly and trudging towards the door. “I’m going to go make some coffee, call me if you need anything.”

 

Peter shook himself from whatever had kept him frozen and nodded stiffly. “Yeah,” he replied weakly. “I got this. You go get some coffee, Jay.”

 

Johnny nodded and went out to the front of the store to sit and mope into a cup of steaming black coffee. He stared at the framed sketch of Peter’s that hung on the wall adjacent to his table until the coffee had long since gone cold, lost in thoughts of everything and nothing all at once.

 

Finally, the sun was hovering just below the horizon. It was mid-spring, so Johnny realized it was actually getting rather late. He gulped down the icy coffee in a few huge gulps, making a face as his tongue registered the bitterness and the cold liquid hit his throat. He pushed himself away from the table with a heavy sigh and meandered back toward the kitchen to see how far Peter had gotten on the cake.

 

When he entered the kitchen, he thought for sure that something must be wrong. Peter was nowhere in sight, and the lights were all off. The cake stood on the counter surrounded by candles dancing with tiny flames, gold leaf shining in their light. Johnny approached cautiously, hoping he wasn’t about to get pranked or somehow ruin the masterpiece of cake.

 

Each layer was perfect. Delicate gold gleamed in each pattern provided, exactly like they appeared in Rogers’ drawing. Peter had done an incredible job. Johnny wished he could keep the cake as another piece of artwork to decorate the bakery, but it was time to deliver the cake and be done with it.

 

He grabbed the tiny box of groom figures that needed to go on top of the cake before it was complete. One was blond and the other had dark hair and a silly little goatee. Johnny smiled at them, thinking of what Peter might look like someday if he ever decided to have facial hair. He laughed softly, shaking his head at his own thoughts as he realized how ridiculous that would look.

 

He was about to arrange the figures on the top of the cake when he caught sight of a detail that hadn’t been in the drawings.

 

 _Go out with me?_ was written in neat, tiny gold letters on top of the cake.

 

His jaw dropped but he couldn’t seem to make any sound come out. “Please?” came Peter’s gentle voice directly behind him. Johnny was too shocked by the question to even jump at Peter’s sudden appearance. He turned slowly, unable to speak as his mouth continued to hang uselessly open. Peter was looking at him with huge anxious puppy dog eyes and it was the most beautiful, heartbreaking expression he had ever seen.

 

“Wha-?” he finally managed to gasp out in his shock. “Pete-?”

 

“Go out with me,” Peter gently insisted. “Please. I…I really like you, Johnny. And-and I think you feel the same way. God, please feel the same way. Or just. Say something. Anything. I feel like an idiot standing here, Johnny, and usually you talk as much as I do but you’re not saying anything and wow you must totally hate me, I totally misread this, crap, I’m so sorry man, just forget it-”

 

“No,” Johnny finally choked out.

 

Peter froze, but quickly seemed to pull himself back together enough to speak, although tears were threatening in his eyes. “So it’s a no, got it, okay, we’ll just forget this ever happened, right?”

 

“No,” Johnny repeated, unable to put together a coherent thought just yet. “Just. Let me…” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, composing himself. “No, as in you didn’t misread it. No, as in, don’t forget it. No, as in you’re not an idiot. No, I don’t hate you.”

 

Peter opened his mouth as if he was about to speak but quickly caught his lip in his teeth to keep silent. His eyes continued to plead for an answer to his real question. They darted to the words on the cake before focusing again on Johnny’s face.

 

Johnny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding and felt as though the stress and tension he had carried since autumn was finally dissipating.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Yes, you dope.” A blinding grin broke out on Peter’s face.

 

“Okay. Okay, uh, good. I mean-”

 

But Johnny didn’t get to find out what Peter meant, because he silenced him with a kiss. It lasted only a few seconds and it was chaste and closed-mouth, but when he pulled back, they were both smiling softly at each other.

 

Peter licked his lips nervously, still shaky but happy now. “Mm, you taste like sugar, Cupcake,” he murmured, eyes fixed on Johnny’s lips as he spoke.

 

Johnny laughed. “Of course I do. I just kissed a man who’s baked good gluttony personified, Sugar!”

 

Peter beamed broadly at him, eyes flicking up to meet Johnny’s, then took a step forward and put his arms around him, pulling him closer. He kissed him again, still tenderly and slowly. He drew back and rested their foreheads together. “Well, you know how much I love eating cupcakes, Cupcake. But I think this particular one could use a little more Sugar.”

 

Johnny couldn’t hold back his own matching grin. “I couldn’t agree more.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> The "Free Licks" t-shirt comes from Chris Evans' movie "What's Your Number?"
> 
> The almost-kiss at New Year's is inspired by the "very close talking" from the Psych episode "Bounty Hunters."


End file.
